[Park Road. 13:40 BST.]
The trophies never stopped moving. The Europa went up on Dann's shoulder, then onto Konaté's head like a hat, then Pato had it and was pretending to drink out of it, then it was back. The Carabao. The FA Cup, which Mama held against his chest with both arms and would not let anybody else carry, and I knew why, and I left him to it.
And the medals. Three round every neck on the deck, Carabao and FA Cup and Europa, swinging and clacking together every time a lad jumped, and they jumped a lot. Hennessey wore his three over a bare chest and he had not played a minute of the final and I would fight any man who said he hadn't earned them.
Pato lined the three cups up at the front rail like a man selling fish off a stall.
"CARABAO." He held Mili's cup out over the rail and the street went up. "FA CUP." Mama lifted it and the street went up louder.
